


Yellow

by Septdeneuf



Series: Transplanted [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Medical Conditions, Organ Failure, RvB Angst War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Septdeneuf/pseuds/Septdeneuf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, on a positive note, you're miraculously active for someone with severe multi organ failure", Doctor Grey said. </p><p>"Miraculously active? Can I get that in writing? Wait, multi organ failure?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow

"You're yellow." 

If there was one thing you could say that would make Dexter Grif livid in no seconds flat, then it was that, and Donut knew that, so why the fuck was he saying it at the breakfast table?  

"For the last fucking time", Grif started, even though he wasn't sure that Donut had ever needed to be corrected like this before, but it had happened with enough people that Grif was absolutely sick of it, anyway. "I'm not yellow, I'm not gold, I am fucking Orange!" He waved at his obviously orange clad torso for emphasis, before he got to work on the next muffin.

"I know that!", Donut protested. "I mean your face, like your eyes." 

"What? My eyes are fucking brown, genius", Grif said, opening his eyes extra wide and staring at his teammate for emphasis. "I know you're uncomfortable calling colors by their real names, but that's a pretty damn big difference right there." 

"No, I mean the white parts. Also, I'm great at naming colors, don't you remember when we were trying to refurbish the base back at Blood Gulch and I was the only one who could accurately name the paint swatches?" 

"The white parts are white, dipshit, that's why they're called 'white parts'", Grif explained. "I'm not gonna keep sitting here and listen to that shit." He picked up his tray and moved over to the next table, but not before stealing a pink glazed donut from Donut's tray. The pink soldier shouldn't be eating that, anyway, Grif was saving him from committing cannibalism, there. 

* * *

"You know, I think Donut's right", Simmons mused. He'd met his teammate in the armory, grumbling about how Grif hadn't listened to his concern, and now that he was finally seeing the hawaiian himself at the end of the day, he had to admit he had a point. 

"Right about what?", Grif asked, looking at his tablet, dismissing reports he'd been sent, undoubtedly without reading them. It grated on Simmons nerves to see. 

"You do look kinda yellow." At that, Grif slammed the tablet down on his bunk, and fixed Simmons with a scandalized stare. 

"That's grounds for divorce", he said seriously. 

"We're not married, dipshit." 

"Damn right we're not, because I just divorced you, because you called me yellow."

"Right." Simmons rolled his eyes, and completely ignored the warm fuzzy feeling he got at the thought of being married to Grif, because that was obviously crazy. Who would ever want to be married to such a lazy, obnoxious, funny, resourceful… okay, best to stop it right there. "But your eyes are kinda yellow." 

"They're brown", Grif said, slowly and enunciating carefully as if he was talking a small child, or, you know, Caboose. 

"Look in the fucking mirror, you'll see what I mean", Simmons shot back. 

"Fine", Grif said. "But it's just gonna prove that you're full of shit." He got up and went to the tiny washcorner they had in their shared room. The room wasn't huge, wasn't nearly as nice as what they had in Armonia, where they didn't have to share, but considering there were only two of them they were already well off. The small town slash outpost that was now the headquarters of the United Army of Chorus didn't really have a lot of space. 

"Oh", Grif said from the mirror. "Okay, I guess I sorta see what you mean. But it's not very yellow. Just, like, a hint of yellow, it's fine."

"Well, see Donut was right, no need to bite his head off over it", Simmons said. 

"I didn't bite his head off, I just switched seats", Grif grumbled as he made his way back to his cot. 

"And stole his donut. You know eating Donut's donut, that's messed up, that's like consuming a representation of him", Simmons philosophized. 

"Then why… was he… eating it in the first place?", Grif said, as he sat down and braced his hands on his knees. 

"Are you seriously out of breath from walking three feet? Oh my god, how can a person even be that out of shape?" 

"Fuck… you", Grif panted.

"Maybe you should get that checked out", Simmons suggested. He tried to sound casual about and was probably failing. It wasn't like he was worried about the big tub of lard or anything… "Bet Dr Grey will be interested in your yellow thing, too." 

"Yeah whatever. I'm still mainly orange, though." 

* * *

Grif really had meant to go to see Dr Grey, but there'd been other stuff, and he'd just kind of lost track of it. One time he'd actually gone to the hospital which didn't really deserve the name, but the elevator had been out of order and he just hadn't been feeling the stairs. Fuck stairs. 

But then the decision had been taken from him. Viciously, unfairly, the unthinkable had happened. 

Grif had no appetite. 

Looking around the breakfast buffet, absolutely nothing seemed appealing. Sure part of that was that the food wasn't great, their supplies were shit, and it would still be a while before the UNSC would arrive. But Grif wasn't a picky eater and the cooks put a lot of effort into making the meals palatable even if they didn't have much. 

He reached up to his forehead and found it unusually warm. Well, not that he was completely sure, his hand was warm too, so who knew. But he definitely felt like shit, and not wanting to eat was most definitely a reason for him to finally go see Dr Grey. 

The walk to the hospital took him much longer than it usually would've and Grif had to concede that just maybe Simmons had a point about him being out of shape, when he needed to stop three times on the way to catch his breath. 

At least the fucking elevator was working again, so he didn't have to take the stairs. Had he had to he might've just given up and stayed in bed all day. Which, now that he was thinking about it as the elevator was going up, probably would've been the better plan, but now he was here already. 

It took a while for Dr Grey to actually see him, but while waiting he was ushered into an examination room, where a medic took his temperature and blood pressure and even drew some blood. 

"You have just set a record for highest bilirubin level ever recorded in this hospital", was Dr Grey's cheerful greeting when she finally came through the door. 

"This hospital just opened two months ago", Grif deadpanned. 

"True, but a bilirubin of a thousand is a very impressive achievement." When Grif didn't react to the number, she added. "It's usually under one." She went to the computer terminal in the corner and looked at something Grif couldn't see from his angle. "You know you're surprisingly normal colored." 

"What color were you expecting me to be?" Grif was pretty sure Dr Grey had seen him without a helmet before, so she shouldn't be surprised by what he looked like. 

"Well, if not for you dark complexion and the poor circulation in your skin grafts you'd look like a Lego person right now." She came closer and tugged on his lower eyelid. "Oh but your sclera tell the story. Did you not notice that you were jaundiced?" 

"My what are what?" 

"The whites of your eyes are yellow. Because of liver failure. Do you drink a lot of alcohol, Captain Grif?" She grabbed a tablet and sat down on a stool to take some notes." 

"No, but not for lack of trying. Do you know how hard it is to get alcohol around here? About as hard as getting Oreos, and a guy's gotta prioritize." Not that there weren't moments when he wasn't sure if he'd set his priorities right. The few times he'd had access to hard liquor while in the army had been the times when he'd found the rest of the Reds and Blues the most palatable. 

"I see. Have you ever, or are you currently, abusing intravenous drugs?", Dr Grey went on. 

"What? No, why are you even asking that?" Not that Grif was particularly offended at the suggestion, but if this was leading up to stupid anti drug lingo like Donut had plagued him and Simmons with after the caves under Blood Gulch, he'd rather leave the conversation right now. 

"Well, because your liver is failing and I'm trying to determine which reason is most likely", Dr Grey said pleasantly. More cheerful than a medical professional telling their patient about organ failure should be, if you asked Grif. 

"Shouldn't you be asking Simmons those questions, then? It's his liver", Grif said, crossing his arms. 

"… You have Captain Simmons' liver?" Doctor Grey's eyebrows shot up to vanish under her bangs. 

"Yeah, and a bunch of other organs, too." She stared at him intently, which he realized after a moment was supposed to indicate her interest, but honestly looked pretty creepy. She should probably go back to wearing the weird cycloptic federal army helmet, it looked a lot more reassuring than her actual face. "I got blown up by the Blues tank, and Sarge turned Simmons into a cyborg and put his organs in me to save me." 

Rapid blinking. "Couldn't he have just turned _you_ into the cyborg, instead?" 

"Oh, don't even get me started on that, Sarge thought it was a waste of parts to out them into me." 

"I… see." She seemed genuinely perplexed by that information. There wasn't much that could make Emily Grey speechless, but evidently Sarge's insanity was one of those things. "Do you happen to know which organs, specifically?" 

"Well, the heart, and lungs and liver, and kidneys, I guess. I don't know, maybe more." Sarge's description hadn't been that specific, and Grif had never really felt comfortable enough with the whole situation to try to find out more details. 

"I see. Are you taking immunosuppressants, then?"

"Uh, yeah, stuff's called Ciclo… something", Grif said. He wasn't wearing his armor right now, otherwise he would've just shown her the package, he usually had one in his pockets. 

"Ciclosporin?", Dr Grey ventured. 

"Yeah, that's it." 

"And is that the only medication you're taking?" Grif nodded. "And did you have regular check ups to adjust the dosage and check the efficacy before arriving here on Chorus?" 

"No." Grif was almost tempted to laugh. As if the Sim Troopers had ever gotten adequate medical attention. "Some UNSC Doctor prescribed it to me once and I've been taking it ever since." 

"I see. Well", she said, clapping her hands together. "That does put things in perspective." 

"Okay, so… what is it, then?" 

"Oh, I'm not supposed to tell you any theories at this stage, it would only unsettle you. I'm going to run some tests, first", she explained, apparently oblivious to the fact that her saying that was already plenty unsettling. 

So were the tests, in fact. 

* * *

After making him take his shirt off, she put her hand on one side of his belly, and then slapped the other side."

"Oy, what the fuck?", Grif demanded. Not that she hit hard or anything, but still, that was uncalled for. 

"Oh, that's just a test for ascites. Which you have a lot of, by the way", Dr Grey explained, poking into his upper thigh while she was speaking. At his questioning look she added. "Water in the stomach."

"What, so I'm not really fat, it's just water?" 

"Oh no you are definitely overweight, but not all of it is fat See this dent here?" She pointed to where she'd poked him in the leg. The indentation of where her finger had been was still clearly visible. "That's oedema. Fat bounces." 

"Okay, so I'm full of water, what does that mean?", Grif asked. 

"I'll tell you once I have all the test results", Dr Grey deflected, which wasn't filling Grif with a whole lot of confidence, to be honest.

* * *

"Slight pinch!", Doctor Grey announced cheerfully before ramming a huge needle into his side.

"Ow! That was _not_ a slight pinch", Grif complained. He tried to rub the spot, but she swatted his hand away. 

"No, it really isn't, but that's a lie Doctors tell all the time. Honesty isn't that well received when you tell people that you're going to ram a four inch needle into them to rip out a tiny piece of their internal organs." She put the needle away, and, worryingly, picked up another one. She aimed it at the next spot. 

"Slight pinch!", she said again, and Grif glared at her. 

* * *

"Did you get a… pancreas transplant?" She sounded dubious as she pressed the wand of the ultrasound device into his stomach just underneath his ribcage. 

"I dunno, probably", Grif shrugged. "Is that weird?" 

"Well, it's not an organ that usually gets transplanted, if it ever needs to be removed or is highly damaged, its functions can just be taken over by taking hormones. Also… it appears that your original pancreas is still there." 

"Ask Sarge about it, I guess," 

"Oh, I will most certainly do that." 

* * *

After she'd done all her tests Dr Grey had left. When he'd asked if he could just go to his quarters, she'd told him that he wasn't leaving this hospital in a tone that had made him think of screaming mercenaries and opera singing so he'd wisely stayed put. After half an hour she waltzed back into the examination room she'd left him in. 

"Well, on a positive note, you're miraculously active for someone with severe multi organ failure", she said upon entering. 

" _Miraculously active_? Can I get that in writing?" Those were definitely not words that had even been used to describe him before. "Wait, multi organ failure?" 

"Rejection. It's been going on for years, your body's immune system is trying to defend itself against what it perceives to be foreign tissue. You and Captain Simmons are nowhere near MHC compatible, and the immunosuppressant therapy you were on was nowhere near sufficient, you should've been on a combination of at least two different medications and it looks like the dosage should've been much higher."

 _Shit._ He may have no idea about the specifics, but he knew one thing for sure. He needed those organs to, y'know, live. "So, I had the wrong medicine, so now you put me on the right stuff and then it'll all be fine?", he ventured, but he doubted it was that easy. 

"No, silly. I mean yes, we'll optimize the medication, try to save what we can of the organs, but they're pretty much non functional already. Your hearts dilated like nobody's business, it's not keeping up, your lungs are full of fluid because of that and they're pretty fibrotic anyway. Your kidney's soldiering on, but not well, and the liver's given up completely." 

How the hell could anybody sound that cheerful while giving that kind of news?

"Okay, so, then what?", Grif asked, running his hand through his hair. Simmons' hand, really. 

"Well, we can work on the symptoms, drain the fluid from your lungs, help the kidney along, but those are not long term solutions. The organs need to be replaced, and soon." Finally there was a crack in the doctor's cheerful demeanor. She looked off to the side, and when he perpetual smile dropped she looked much older than usual. 

"Can't I just get robot organs, like Simmons?", Grif asked. He tried his best to avoid thinking about what would happen if the organs wouldn't be replaced, but a hint of panic was already coloring his tone. 

"Well, heart and lungs probably, if we have the right parts, it's not simple, and for the liver it's even more difficult. I need to look into it. The alternative, of course, is organs from a dead person, but you know, most people don't die in a way that their organs are still usable, so we're not exactly swimming in organs." 

Grif didn't know what to say to that, so he just stayed quiet. 

"But", she said perking up, "You never know, with the way Lt Jensen is driving there's bound to be a fatal car accident soon."

He wasn't sure if that was supposed to make him feel better, but he knew that it definitely didn't.

* * *

When Simmons first got the call, he didn't realize what it meant for a moment. The first thing that he'd processed was "Grif is rejecting you" which had seemed like a really roundabout way to break up with him, because why not say it yourself instead of letting your doctor of all people deliver the message? 

But then he realized that wasn't what she was saying at all, and the alternative was so much worse. 

"I thought you were taking your pills!", Simmons accused as he entered Grif's hospital room. Probably not the most touchy feely was of introducing himself into that situation, but if this was caused by Grif not properly taking care of Simmons' organs, then he was going to be pissed. 

"I was, turns out the dose was wrong and I should've been prescribed like a bunch of different ones", Grif protested. "It's not my fault." 

"Well, technically it is _your_ immune system", Simmons reminded him. "So it's kinda…" 

"Oh, can it." Grif looked up at the doorway to his room. "And you, too, if you're gonna look like that." Simmons turned around and saw Donut standing there. His eyes were shining and his lips wobbling. He had maybe a minute before he'd start all out bawling. 

"Grif", Donut started with a sniffle. 

"Seriously, no touchy feely bullshit!", Grif warned, looking ready to throw something if Donut went through with the perceived threat of saying something heart warming. 

"I was right, you are yellow", Donut said with what wasn't really a smile because he was nearly crying, but a twitch of the lips to indicate one. 

"Oh fuck off!", Grif yelled, grabbed his pillow and threw it at Donut. The youngest Red took that as his cue to leave. 

"Well, he's not wrong", Simmons said after a moment. Grif rolled his eyes. 

"Uh, Simmons?" 

"What?" 

"Could you grab my pillow?", he asked sheepishly. Now it was Simmons turn to roll his eyes. 

"When you do stuff like that you've gotta take into account that it has consequences. Don't throw your fucking pillow if you're too lazy to pick it up again", he admonished. But he didn't sit down on the chair at Grif's bedside yet. 

"It's not laziness! Doctor's orders, I'm not supposed to do stuff because my heart's all messed up." That had Simmons finally moving back to the entrance and getting the pillow. He threw it back at his teammate. 

"You know, it's technically my heart." 

"Yeah, well, look at me go, breaking your heart." Grif blinked. "Wait, that came out wrong."

Simmons let out a snort at that. Not that he found it very funny. But, well. 

_You're not wrong._

* * *

There was exactly one bar at the United Army of Chorus' new base of operations. Carolina wouldn't call herself an avid drinker, but since Epsilon she'd found herself there on more than one occasion. He would probably disapprove of her drinking alone, but if he'd been there, she wouldn't be drinking alone. 

And it wasn't like she got hammered or anything. One or two drinks, just to help her sleep on nights whe it was particularly bad. She could probably just go to Dr Grey and get sleeping pills, but she wasn't a big fan of that idea. Not only was she not a fan of the pills, it would practically be an invitation to Dr Grey to psychoanalyze her, and she'd been doing her best to avoid that ever since she'd met the other woman. 

Speaking of Dr Grey, though, when Carolina entered the bar, that wasn't terribly full anymore, considering it was two a.m. she spotted the doctor at a table, staring down at a datapad and looking more tired and worn than Carolina had ever seen her. 

"Dr Grey?", she asked, contemplating whether or not to sit down at her table. Maybe she just wanted to be left alone. It was certainly a feeling that Carolina could empathize with. 

"Agent Carolina", Grey said, with a hint of her usual smile. "I have a philosophical question for you." 

"Alright", Carolina said, taking that as an invitation to sit down. 

"If you have the chance to save one person, or you have the chance to save four people, what do you choose?" 

"The four people", Carolina said, even though the way Grey was asking made her feel like it was a trick question she just hadn't seen through yet. 

"Right", Grey said, taking a sip from her glass. Carolina caught the bartender's eye and made a vague gesture to ask for her usual. It was probably worrying that she was at the point to have a 'usual' at a bar. "It's just math, it's simple, really. Anyone would make the same choice." 

"Is there a problem with that?", Carolina asked. 

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few", Grey said wistfully. 

"True", Carolina agreed hesitantly. She still wasn't sure where this was going. 

"So, if you would make the same choice, do you by any chance want to be the one to tell Captains Grif and Simmons that there's an organ donor that would be compatible, but I'm going to give those organs to some other people whose names I don't even remember without checking the file?"

"Oh." Carolina had heard that Grif was in the hospital. She didn't exactly understand why he apparently had a bunch of Simmons' organs, but she'd understood that whatever was wrong now, was serious. "So, how are his chances without those?"

"He probably has a few weeks. It's likely that he's dead before I'm even halfway through constructing artificial replacements for the failing organs. If this had happened back in Armonia it would be a different story, but we just don't have any equipment sophisticated enough." 

Carolina's drink arrived just in that moment, and she couldn't have been more grateful for it. Losing Epsilon had been tough enough, watching Grif die, too? _One by one_ , just like the Freelancers. Another family… She took a deep swig. The burning feeling of the Whiskey down her throat made the dark thoughts retreat. A little. 

"It's the right choice", Grey said, blinking a few times, and Carolina noticed how her eyes were swimming with unshed tears. "He needs a lung, a heart, a liver and a kidney, and each of those organs could save a life each, or just one on their own. And all the other potential recipients have better lab values, their chances of making it through the operation are very good, Captain Grif's system's in such bad shape he might just die on the table. And then those organs wouldn't help anyone." 

Carolina could see the point. She knew tough decisions, and she understood the logic Grey was presenting. But she wanted to protest it, anyway. 

"And knowing all that, I should already be scrubbing in, harvesting those organs and getting them to those other patients. And instead I'm sitting in a bar, drinking a soda." 

"Personal relations are no reason to make medical decisions", Grey added. 

No, they really weren't. But as she took another swig from her drink, Carolina fervently wished that they could be. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by Anon on Tumblr: Angst War Prompt: Grif's body rejects Simmon's organs.
> 
> I might continue this at some point, I guess we'll see. If anyone wants to prompt me for the Angst war, head to my Tumblr: kyuunonana.tumblr.com, I'd be happy to hear from you! (Also I'd be happy to hear how you like this :)


End file.
